You and Me Against the World
by Kozmotis Pitchiner
Summary: High school is never easy: sometimes it's downright hellish. But it all depends on the people you surround yourself with...sometimes, they just make everything worse. And sometimes? It's all worth it. (ROTG HS AU, frostbite and black ice.)
1. Chapter 1

The first assembly of the year was always hectic. Freshmen stalled in the doorways of the auditorium, looking around with varying degrees of confusion and fright on their faces. Older students pushed past them impatiently, shouting across the room at their friends and trying to coordinate for the best seats. Of course, the top rows were reserved for returning seniors: it was an unspoken rule at Thaddeus Burgess Memorial High School that no junior, sophomore and _definitely _no freshman was allowed to sit in the highest of the seats. Older siblings frantically pulled their freshmen brothers and sisters away from those seats, guiding them towards the front row and admonishing them for trying to take the spot of a senior.

But at the top of the high school hierarchy, there is turmoil. Seniors have to snatch seats for themselves _and _their friends quickly, or risk being separated. It's important to establish your posse early in the year—if you don't find a group to roll with within the first month of school, you almost automatically become an outcast, even if you're a returning senior. High school is just fucked up that way. Connections are everything.

The chatter in the auditorium intensified as the principal, Mr. Nicholas North, made his way to the podium. His appearance signaled that the students had less than five minutes to get settled, or they would have to stand. A petite senior with smooth brown skin and small ankles clambered up onto her seat, scanning the crowd anxiously.

"Where's Jack?" she asked. The broad-shouldered black boy beside her shrugged.

"He's probably late," he said. His coarse Australian accent was a surprising contrast to the girl's gentle, rolling Asian accent, and a few nearby freshmen looked around at him. "He usually is. Sit down, Tooth, you're gonna fall and break your neck."

"No I won't," Tooth replied.

"Are you sure?" Someone kicked the bottom of the seat, catching Tooth off-guard and causing her to lose her balance. She squeaked out loud and fell off the seat, right into the arms of the oh-so-elusive Jack. He grinned at her. "Gotcha."

"You could have killed me," she snapped, but she wasn't really mad. Besides, even if she was, there wasn't time for her to lecture him; Mr. North was clearing his throat at the podium. The students quieted down, and Jack and Tooth took their seats.

"_Dobroye utro!" _Mr. North said jovially. "Good morning, students! And welcome to new school year! I trust you all found your schedules?" There was a general murmur of assent. "Good! You will notice that the lunch periods is moved slightly…" As Mr. North continued, Tooth leaned over and whispered to Jack.

"Why were you late? You told me you left on time."

"I stopped to save the President's life," Jack whispered back. She punched him on the arm. "Oh, come on, you should be proud. You're dating an American hero now."

"Oh yeah? Where's your medal?" Tooth asked.

"They ran out."

"Poor baby."

They both glanced up when the auditorium doors opened again and an unfamiliar boy with a sharp, prominent nose slipped in. He didn't even try to look for a seat; he made a beeline for the wall and leaned against it, virtually disappearing into the shadows there. Unconcerned, Jack turned back to Tooth.

"Any new seniors?" he asked. Tooth shrugged.

"I didn't look, I was too busy looking for you."

"Everything's my fault, isn't it?"

"It's good practice for when you get married."

"Remind me not to get married." By this time, Tooth was looking a little annoyed with him, so Jack leaned over and gave her a kiss.

"Okay, that's the end of my sass, I promise," he whispered. "Senior year will be the year of straight-edge Jack Frost."

"Yeah, and flying pig-monkeys," Tooth shot back, but she was smiling.

"Of course, those too." They both lapsed into a fit of giggles, and one of the teachers gave them a stern look.

"But seriously," Jack said, suddenly deadpan. "This year is gonna be great." Tooth looked at him, still breathing hard through her nose.

"You think so?" she asked.

"Hell yeah. We're seniors. On top of the food chain. It's gonna be smooth sailing from here on out."


	2. Chapter 2

They only had a few minutes to compare schedules and lament over having only one shared class. Jack put his hand to his forehead in exaggerated despair.

"Oh, woe is me," he cried. "Alone for eternity in this wretched prison. Fret, fret, whatever shall I do?"

"Would you shut up?" said Aster. We've got life skills together, and we all ended up with the same lunch period. Could have done worse." Jack lowered his hand.

"Yeah, I guess. Doesn't change the fact that school is a wretched prison, though."

"I think I would rather be in school than an office job," said Tooth. The bell rang, and she jumped. "We'd better run! I'll see you at lunch!" She gave Jack a quick kiss on the cheek, then ran off before either he or Aster could get a word in. Jack just chuckled and shrugged at Aster.

"See you at lunch, mate," Aster said.

"Later." They went in different directions; Aster to economics class, and Jack to British and World Literature.

He managed to slip in just as the second bell rang, and sat down in the back of the class before the teacher, Mrs. Bleu, looked up from her attendance folder. She took roll, then launched into the usual "welcome to my class, this is what I expect, blah blah blah" lecture that every teacher gives at the beginning of the year. Of course Jack wasn't listening; he didn't really plan on passing that class. Maybe scraping by with a C, at best. Instead, he looked around the room, looking for new faces. As the unofficial "school photographer", he had to assess the new students before letting them in on it. Make sure they were trustworthy.

He spotted the tardy boy from the assembly, easily recognized by his prominent nose. There was little definition between the bridge and his forehead—it almost like it just dropped straight from his forehead. (A Grecian nose, as Jack later found out.) As he turned his head to examine the walls of the classroom, Jack saw that his face was long and thin, with narrow eyes and unbelievably high cheekbones. And his eyebrows were missing. That was weird.

He looked unimpressed and tired. Jack hadn't really been listening during roll call, so he couldn't guess what the guy's name was. Probably something foreign. _Maybe Middle Eastern, like Iraq or something_, Jack thought.

He must have been staring for too long, because the unimpressed boy noticed him. His eyes narrowed even further, and the skin on his forehead moved like he was furrowing his brow. His lack of eyebrows really was unsettling.

Jack put up his hands a little in the universal "sorry, bro" signal, and pretended to read the class syllabus. But he snuck several more sidelong glances at the new student, and decided that he would get him to talk at the next chance he had.


	3. Chapter 3

That chance, as it turned out, was right after class ended and they had a ten-minute lull between periods. The new student didn't move from his seat as the others left the classroom. He watched them go, wearing the same bored expression and leaning his head on his hand lazily. Jack waited until nearly everyone was gone, then stood up and walked over to the other's desk, all swagger and confidence. He would show this new kid that he, Jack, was above him on the high school ladder. But as he reached him, the new student stood.

Jack's step faltered just a little. At only five feet and seven inches tall, a lot of guys were taller than him, but this new guy pretty much dwarfed him. He was six-foot-four, maybe five, and looked more like a college student than a high schooler. He looked down at Jack, his expression unchanging. Jack cleared his throat.

"Uh, hi," he said. The new student said nothing. "I'm Jack. You're new, right?"

"No. I'm Pitch." He spoke with an English accent. Jack shook his head.

"No, I meant—are you new here? You are, right?" he asked.

"Yes." Jack waited for him to elaborate, but Pitch just picked up his backpack and looked at him imperiously. Jack cleared his throat again—he wasn't used to this. Usually, people liked to talk to him.

"That's cool. Where are you from?"

"London." Pitch started towards the door, and Jack hurried to keep up with his long strides.

"You mean like, England?"

"That's where London is."

"I knew that." Jack was really digging deep for this conversation, and Pitch wasn't making it any easier. "So, uh...Pitch is really your name? Pitch like...pitch black? Nighttime?" Pitch stopped abruptly and looked down at Jack, crossing his arms.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked. He looked annoyed—or at least, Jack thought so. His face was weird! It was hard to tell.

Jack sputtered for a few seconds. He didn't know what to say. This was new territory for him. Pitch stared at him all the while, and Jack could have sworn he was starting to look amused. "I see a cat's got your tongue."

"A cat wouldn't fit in my mouth," Jack said. He was relieved at the opportunity to make a joke, but he didn't think Pitch found it very funny. Quickly, he changed the subject. "What's your next class?"

"Economics of personal finance," said Pitch. Jack waited for a snarky comment, but thankfully, none came.

Really? Me too! Let me see your schedule." Pitch paused, then handed it to him. Jack looked it over. "Well, would you look at that. We have life skills and lunch together, too."

"I'd jump for joy if I didn't have degenerative disc disease," said Pitch. He took his schedule back and started off down the hallway again. Jack watched him for a moment, unsure if he was being sarcastic or not. (What was degenerative disk disease, anyway?) Then he shrugged—it didn't matter—and followed him.

He passed Aster on the way. He wove his way through the students between them, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Save me," he said.

"Personal finance?" Aster asked. Jack nodded, slumping his shoulders. Aster grimaced sympathetically, and clapped Jack on the back. "Well, just...don't do what you did last year."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack muttered. "See you at lunch." Aster raised his fist in solidarity, and split away. Jack made his way to the classroom, where he was pleased to find a lot of open seats. He liked to have a wide variety to choose from. See, he had to pick his seat carefully—there were certain rows that the teacher picked "volunteers" from most often, and it was a good idea to avoid them (unless you're a nerd). Unfortunately, he spotted Pitch sitting in one of those rows.

"Dude, you knows that's like, prime class participation seating, right?" he asked. Pitch didn't reply, and Jack shrugged. "Your funeral." He grabbed an empty seat at the back of the room—far back enough that the teacher wouldn't see him texting or whatever, and just out of her direct line of sight. It was a carefully chosen position; one that Jack had spent the better part of his high school days figuring out. In fact, he had figured out a lot of ways to make high school more enjoyable, and he generously imparted this wisdom to his classmates.

A tiny voice in the back of his head whispered, "That's the only reason they like you, Jack. You're their easy way out. They don't actually like you."

He frowned momentarily, and shook his head until the thought shut its trap. "I'm a delight," he muttered.


End file.
